


Red Brick and Blue Ocean

by Meh42_frickyoutowhoeveralreadytookit



Category: Townscaper
Genre: Birds And Butterflies And Towns Oh My!, Longing to be elsewhere, pretty towns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28628466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meh42_frickyoutowhoeveralreadytookit/pseuds/Meh42_frickyoutowhoeveralreadytookit
Summary: There wasn’t fanfiction, so I made fanfiction.





	Red Brick and Blue Ocean

_Plop_

‘plop plop plop, oh let’s make an arch there, Oop there go the birds, sorry! There they go, my they’re so pretty, I wonder where they’ll land.’

Their mouse clicked in quick succession, corresponding with the new foundations set in the water. They paused, considering the lay of the grid. Red stone appeared, crossing the narrow waterway with little doors and windows springing out of the brick and mortar.   
  


‘hmm, there’s doors there, and doors on the other side, but there’s not a door to the platform here, and how ever will they reach their apiary if there’s no door? I suppose they could lean out the window, but then they’d have to move the bush!’

A hum rang lowly from the huddle of blankets, the artificial light from the screen playing across the half a face not smothered in fabric.

The debatably of the bee house was set aside for more pressing matters.

Spires stretched into the air and metal supports folded out of the depths to hold their burdens.

Birds rested their wings on shingled roofs, not minding the sound of yet more colored stone placing itself among the waves.

Their tired eyes rested on their newest construction, so unique in its glory, yet resting comfortably among its peers in the little smidgen of ocean it deemed home.

’oh what it would be to live there. My buildings and piers, my arches and spires. Little doors nestled between well kept bushes. Mail boxes sitting by their latters, meeting the waves. Why can’t I be there? Why can’t I greet the tides from those many windows, walk the paths along the surf. To set myself on one of those benches and watch the clouds drift past.’

A deep pull of air, released as a sigh. The clock showed the late hour, pushing for an end to idle activities.

They assured that their buildings were saved among the others in their album like collection and cast an eye back to the focus of the screen.

With a last longing look, they ended the program and set off for bed, mind still swirling with fantasy’s of salty sea breeze and quiet stone houses.


End file.
